


Tempus Des Mors

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every moment is another chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempus Des Mors

## Tempus Des Mors

by Nemesis

Please, don't hurt me. They're not mine, and this didn't really happen. 

For my much abused Betas, Twilight and TheaterKitty. For TheaterKitty, because she thought up my title after weeks of wondering, and for Twilight, who warned me that after I post this I should run for the hills.

Warning: Major character death. This story has been rated D, as in depressing. My Betas apparently needed anti-depressants after reading this. You have been warned.

* * *

March 29th, 2004 

"You will soon have an unexpected visitor." Blair looked up from his fortune cookie. "Looks like Naomi's coming to town. Hey, maybe the sage will clear up your head cold." 

"You let that woman burn one leaf, and we're shipping her back to Uganda." Jim sniffled, then cracked open his own fortune cookie. "You will find happiness with a new love." 

"Right before we put her in jail." 

"Are you insinuating something about my taste in women, Chief?" 

"Yeah. It's bad." And, selfishly, Blair hoped it stayed that way, so he could keep Jim with him. He's starting to give up keeping any sort of distance between them. Especially since he's started to discover all sorts of interesting things about how things are supposed to work between them. 

"Start running, Sandburg. I'll even give you a five second head start." Grinning, Blair threw down some money and sprinted for the door. His Sentinel, in less than top form, swayed a little as he stood to give chase. "Damned cold." 

* * *

April 5th, 2004 

"I hate early shifts." The sun wasn't even up yet and even a third cup of coffee couldn't really wake him up. "Especially on Mondays." 

"Sorry, Chief." Jim started up the truck. "The sun'll be up in a little while. Then maybe you'll feel like a human being." 

"Yeah, right." Blair slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes. Outside, it started to rain. Later, he'd say he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Jim was pushing him over and grabbing for the emergency brake. 

"Fuck." Jim slammed on the breaks again. Still nothing. "Hold on. We're going for a ride!" 

And then, everything went white. 

"Blair. Blair?" 

Blood was running down his face. "Can't move my arm." 

"Stay still. I can here sirens." 

There was something in Jim's tone that sounded off. "You okay?" 

Silence, and then, "Not really." 

He wanted so badly to reach for Jim, but his arms won't cooperate. "What is it?" 

"Gaping chest wound, collapsed lung." There was a raspy breath. "Chief? I can't see." 

"Concentrate on the sound of my voice, Jim. Jim, listen to me! Say something, damn it." 

"M'sorry." 

"Sorry for what?" Silence again. "Jim, sorry for what?" 

"There's a letter for you, with my will." 

"Don't talk like that, Jim." The sirens were close enough now that Blair could hear them. "Help's almost here." 

There was no answer. The paramedics would declare Jim Ellison dead at 5:39 am, April 5th, 2004. 

* * *

Simon Banks walked into the ER, and every nurse in the place went silent. "Where are my men?" 

The head nurse rose from her desk. They'd drawn straws, and she'd gotten the short one. "Captain, if you'd come with me?" 

She led him into a small treatment room, where Blair was getting a long jagged slash on his face stitched up. "He won't speak. He hasn't said a word since they brought him in, even when we were setting the elbow." 

"Where's Detective Ellison?" He wondered if zone-outs were catchy. 

"Detective Ellison... was DOA." 

"You're telling me-" Blair made a chocked sound, and for his sake, Simon didn't say it. 

"He's gone. There was nothing any of us could do." The nurse, her name tag read Heather, reached out and touched Blair's face. He flinched. "If it were anyone else, I'd have sent them for a psyche evaluation. But it's Blair." 

But it was Blair, and Jim was dead. "We'll take care of him." He had to call Major Crimes, tell them he'd be late. There had been a death in the family. 

* * *

April 10th, 2004 

Blair didn't speak, and when he did, it was only to plan Jim's funeral. He didn't seem to eat or sleep, and Major Crimes gathered around him as if they could assume Jim's role of Blessed Protector. "Blair?" Joel handed him an umbrella. "It's time." 

"Thanks." Jim's letter was in the pocket of his new black suit. "Thank you for taking my place." With the broken arm, Blair couldn't help carry the casket. "What am I going to do?" 

"We all know how much you and Jim loved each other-" 

"No." 

"Everyone knew, Blair. It's alright." 

"You don't know anything, and nothing's alright. We weren't. But..." 

They weren't? It looked like the Chief of Police had just won himself the tune of 1500 dollars. But Joel had bigger problems right now. "But?" 

"But we were getting there. Someone murdered him, Joel. Cut the brake lines in the truck. They took him from me." He adjusted his sling. "Let's get this over with." He was going to finish this, then he was going to read Jim's letter, and then... and then he'd decide what to do. 

* * *

It had taken him hours to get rid of everyone. He was not the grieving widow here. The widow, (of a sort) was in a nice suite at the Marriot, carefully ignoring the fact that everyone was paying more attention to Blair than to her. It was SOP. After all, she'd only been his wife for a year. Blair had been his constant companion for almost a decade. 

So, after he'd gotten rid of Simon, he lit a few candles, grabbed a bottle of wine, took Jim's letter out of his suit jacket, and sat down on the couch. He stared at his service revolver for a few minutes, noticing how it caught the candle light. Then he opened the letter. 

Blair,  
If you're reading this, then I'm not only dead but a fool. I've never been very good with words. I guess you could say being a genetic throwback has limited my emotional vocabulary. I want you to put the gun away. Right now. I'll wait. 

Blair shrugged, and pushed the gun off the coffee table with one foot. 

Don't do anything stupid, okay? I needed you a lot in life, but I don't want you joining me in death. I never told you a lot of things I probably should have, and that makes me a coward. Just remember that I love you and I want you to live. Jim 

He drank some wine, and ran his fingers across those three words he'd always wanted to hear. "Alright, I won't do it. For you, you bastard." 

He blew out the candles and stared into the darkness. Just before he finally fell asleep, he could swear he heard the mournful howl of a lone wolf. 

* * *

February 27th, 2007 

Everyone know you give Sandburg a wide berth. Ever since his partner had been murdered, he hadn't been the most stable guy in the world. Of course, anyone who had ever lost a partner understood. Most cops were closer with their partners than they were to their wives, and Sandburg and Ellison had been closer than most. New regs had gone on the books after Ellison's death. No living with your partner. It wasn't good for your psyche. Anyone who saw Sandburg, saw how damaged he was, agreed with the new regs. 

The scar on his face was the only visible one, but you could catch a glimpse of the ones on the inside. All you had to do was talk to him. Just like his Sentinel years before, Blair had been declared a loose cannon and no one wanted any part of him. 

On this cold February night, he was having a beer with an old friend. Dave Guttenberg, -college roommate his first freshman year, had been one of the few people at Rainer who hadn't abandoned him. When Jim had died, Dave had taken a personal interest in Blair's continual survival. And now, the reason for that was becoming clear. 

"Say that again." Blair carefully set down his mug. 

"I said, I did it. I figured it out, Blair. I've discovered the secret to time travel." 

"Okay, Dave. Time to switch to coffee." 

"You know I never stopped working on it. Blair, how would you like a chance to see Jim again?" 

"Even if it were possible, he would know. He would be able to tell." 

"We can cover the scar. Don't tell me you wouldn't give anything to see him again." 

When Dave was suggesting, what he'd always been adamant about was that his technology only be used for observation. So, Blair agreed, all the while obfuscating through his teeth. 

* * *

The night before he back stepped, (Dave was obsessed with Seven Days) he sat down for one last read of Jim's letter. Then he got out his laptop. 

I lied to Dave. He doesn't know I'm doing this not to say goodbye, but to change history. It's a betrayal of his trust, but I don't really care. I've lived three years without Jim, and I can't do it anymore. Either this works, or I break my promise to Jim and find him in the afterlife. Either this time line ends, or this is my suicide note. 

* * *

April 3rd, 2004, Take Two 

He still writes about Jim, even after... well, after. He's still developing, his senses getting more acute as he aged instead of degrading like a normal persons. He was pretty sure that even as sick as he was, Jim could hear his keys clacking, so he'd taken his laptop to a coffee place. It has to be some kind of adaptive measure. Sentinels had to be rare, even when the genes were prevalent. You'd want your Sentinel to be able to stay in the field as long as possible. I have to wonder though, why the stronger he gets, the more I worry. Someone sat down across from him, and he looked up. "What the-" The man sitting across from him could have been his twin, except he was a few years older, and a jagged scar cut across his face. "Dave finally did it." 

Dave Guttenberg had been trying to discover the secret to time travel since Blair had been a freshman in college. "Yeah, and it only took him twenty years." 

Blair closed his laptop, the scientist in him doing back flips. "How'd we get him to let us test it?" 

"Because he knows how much we loved Jim." 

"Loved?" That was ominous. 

"Three days from now, Jim's going to wreck the truck going to work. We'll survive, barely, pinned in our seat. He'll bleed to death just out of our reach." 

"No." 

"It gets worse. When they did an examination on the truck, they discovered the brake line had been cut." 

"Someone murdered him." The pie he'd eaten suddenly seemed to curdle in his stomach. "He's sick. He wouldn't smell the brake fluid." 

"That's what's always driven me crazy. Was it someone who knew he was a Sentinel? Or was it just random luck that he was sick when it happened? Listen to me. I survived him, but I've always wished I hadn't. Everything you've speculated about the Sentinel/Guide relationship is true. I've spent the past three years missing half of my self. If he dies, if you fail, Dave will make his breakthrough on February 2nd, 2007. If we can't change this... Then we might as well just die with him. Do you understand?" 

"What do you mean, half of your self?" 

"I can still feel him sometimes." The otherself looked at his watch. "Times up, kid. Don't let him go." 

"Wait!" But it was too late. He was already gone. "I'm hallucinating. It's bedtime." He packed up his laptop, and vowed to forget about it. 

* * *

Three days later, though, the incident wouldn't leave him alone, and before getting into the car, he knelt to tie his shoe. What he saw made him drop to the ground. "Hey, Jim. Come look at this." 

"What the hell?" He ran his finger through a puddle of liquid and sniffed. "Brake fluid. Jesus. We could have gotten ourselves killed. Go start the Volvo, will you?" He slid under the car, muttering about stuffy noses and sensory lows. Blair just stood still for a moment, shaking. 

"It was real." 

"What was that, Chief?" 

"Nothing. I'm just gonna go... start the Volvo." If his hands ever stopped shaking, that is. Someone had just tried to kill them. `It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.' 

* * *

Jim sat on the couch and tried to stay awake. His head was pounding, his nose was stuffed up, and he was just feeling generally miserable. The main problem was that his sense of smell had gone almost completely out. And without his sense of smell, he's almost driven a truck with no brakes. He looked over towards the other couch, where Blair was dozing. "I miss your scent. How pathetic is that?" 

Blair just made a sleepy sound and buried his head in a couch cushion. His almost full beer was leaving a ring on the coffee table. Jim knew he was done for when he realized he didn't care. "I miss being able to tell what's going on in your head, Chief. You had to have been scared this morning. I was. But I couldn't smell it." Jim reached over and shook his friend's shoulder. "Come on, buddy. Time for bed." 

* * *

April 8th, 2004 

A wok of stir fry lay abandoned in the kitchen, while the Sentinel of the Great City was busy throwing up in the bathroom. Blair was suddenly very glad he'd had a sandwich. "Jim, I think you need to go to the Emergency Room." 

"Leave me alone, Sandburg. Or I'll throw up on you." Jim took a deep gulp of water, hoping it would stay down. "What are we going to tell them?" 

"We're going to tell them my hypersensitive idiot roommate has food poisoning." 

"I'm not really that nauseous. It's the double vision." He was having a hard time breathing too, but there was no reason to worry Blair. 

Blair noticed the empty cans of mushrooms sitting on top of the garbage. "Go get in the truck, Jim." 

"It's just-" 

"Get in the truck!" 

* * *

The doctor looked at the cultures, then at the man laying in the hospital bed. "Have you eaten any canned foods or lunch meats today?" 

"I..." He was having trouble speaking. It was hard to think. "I put mushrooms... in dinner." 

"Unfortunately, Mr. Ellison, you have botulism." 

"Botulism?" Blair couldn't believe his ears. This was either some incredibly bad luck, or another attempt on Jim's life. "I think you-" 

"You'll need the shot right away, of course. Botulism can be fatal if not treated immediately." The doctor was new, and didn't know that any health decisions made about Jim were actually made by Blair. 

"Jim has a huge amount of drug sensitivities and allergies. You can't just randomly inject him with things." 

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe." He withdrew a syringe from the pocket of his lab coat and grabbed an alcohol wipe. "Now, Mr. Sandburg. If you'd get out of the way." 

"You can't -" 

"If you don't get out of my way, I'll call security and have you escorted out." 

"You do that." Blair wasn't letting anyone shoot anything into Jim's veins without extensive research. 

"Fine." 

* * *

Security had been forced to handcuff Blair to a chair to keep him out of Jim's room, and Dr. Hudsinger was still alive only for that reason. Because if the good doctor had been within Blair's reach when that injection had sent Jim into anaphylactic shock, Blair would have shot him with a clear conscience. 

He'd failed, and Jim was dead, and Blair watched, eyes cold, as some of his friends arrested Dr. Hudsinger for criminally negligent homicide. 

Henri uncuffed him. "Are you alright?" 

Blair didn't dignify that with a response. All he knew was that three years was a long time to be alone. 

* * *

April 7th, 2004, Take Two 

I called Dave today. Let him babble about his research. How he's waiting for the new diamond microchips to come out, because silicone just isn't fast enough for the calculations he needs done. He sounded so excited, I couldn't tell him it was going to be another three years before he got to do testing with human subjects. 

Jim's cold persists, and I worry all the time. Whoever tried to kill him might try again. I can't let him die. What my other self told me is starting to make sense. Jim needed me so badly he brought me back from the dead. Why assume that was a one way street? I can save him, like he saved me. I can even the score, for everything, and he'll never even have to know. 

Blair hit save and leaned back. Jim was upstairs, sleeping restlessly. Blair suddenly felt an almost irresistible urge to go up and join him, to crawl under the comforter, and maybe they'd both actually be able to sleep. But someone, he didn't think Jim would react very favorably to that. So, instead, he crawled into his own bed, and dreamt about the car accident that had almost killed his Sentinel. What happened to his face seemed so very unimportant in comparison with the knowledge of Jim's death. 

Three hours later, he was shaken awake. He opened his eyes and once again saw himself. "No." It came out a groan. 

"Poison, tomorrow." There was no scar on this one's face, but he looked older, exhausted from the effort of just being alive. "They'll think it's botulism. When they give him the shot in the hospital, it'll kill him." 

Blair sat up. "Which can?" 

"I'm not sure. Just get rid of all the mushrooms, okay? We threw them into a stir fry." 

"Okay." He got out of bed and threw out all the canned mushrooms. When he came back, his visitor was gone. He crawled back into bed, and tried to think of anyone who would want to kill Jim. He fell asleep before he even hit the year 2000. 

* * *

April 8th, 2004, Take Two 

Jim stared at the fresh mushrooms in the fridge. They weren't exactly bad yet, but they would ruin the taste for him. He checked the cupboards for the canned kind. "Hey, Chief, have you seen the mushrooms?" 

In the living room, Blair's thumb froze on the remote. "What mushrooms?" 

"The canned mushrooms. Did you do something with them?" 

"I haven't seen them." He managed to turn the TV off, then make his hands stop shaking. "Just use the ones in the fridge." 

"They taste funny." 

"It's pouring. I'm not going out to get you mushrooms. Do without." How many times was this going to happen? How many times were they going to repeat this loop? Blair let his head fall against the back of the couch. `Someone is trying to kill us. And the list is so fucking long...' 

* * *

Sometimes, when he can't sleep, he stands in Blair's doorway and watches him. This isn't exactly love, not for him. Love hurt more than this. Something had been bothering Blair. He'd found the mushrooms in the trash. The seals on the cans had been bulging. There was obviously something wrong with them, so Blair had thrown them away. But why lie about it? 

"Chief, what's going on with you?" There was no answer. Blair slept like the dead, for the most part. "I wish you'd talk to me. You know I'm no good at this stuff. I'm less than a full Sentinel right now. I can't tell what you're feeling." 

He entered the room, pulled Blair's covers back up from where he'd kicked them off. He'd wake up freezing in the middle of the night, then wake Jim up. He told himself that was why he did it. That excuse only worked so many times. 

Blair started to mumble in his sleep as Jim was heading back upstairs. He was talking about mushrooms and botulism and death by lethal injection. "You have the strangest dreams, Chief." He climbed the stairs, got into a cold bed, and listened to Blair's heart beat. 

* * *

April 13th, 2004 

Blair eyed the woman sitting at the scarred wooden table. "Look, we know you were there. You saw it happen. So why..." he trailed off, suddenly staring off into space. 

Watching from behind the two-way mirror, Simon Banks knew something was wrong. He watched for a few seconds, waiting for Blair to snap out of it, and then the other man started to slowly sink down to the floor. 

"Fuck." He wrenched the door open just in time to see the witness jump up from her seat as Blair's body made a dull thud on the floor. 

* * *

"He's comatose." Dr. Hudsinger shined a light in Blair's eyes. "No pupil reaction." 

"Comatose?" Simon didn't know what was going on, but it wasn't anything good. 

"Completely non-responsive. We need to contact his next-of-kin to discuss treatment, but there's no answer at his house. Do you know where we can find someone named James Ellison?" 

"You can't find Jim?" 

* * *

They never found a body, just the truck, and Blair was never the same. On the day they buried an empty casket, he took a bottle of wine and Jim's letter up to the loft bedroom. He'd failed, and he was tired of trying and failing. 

He put his gun on the comforter, poured himself a glass of wine, and opened the letter. 

Blair,  
If you're reading this, then I'm not only dead but a fool. I've never been very good with words. I guess you could say being a genetic throwback has limited my emotional vocabulary. I want you to put the gun away. Right now. I'll wait. 

Blair shrugged, and pushed the gun off the bed with one foot. 

Don't do anything stupid, okay? I needed you a lot in life, but I don't want you joining me in death. I never told you a lot of things I probably should have, and that makes me a coward. Just remember that I love you and I want you to live. Jim 

And as always, Blair did at least part of what he was told. He put away the gun, went downstairs, and got a knife. The next day, Simon got a commitment order. 

He'd only been out of the hospital six months when Dave came to him, and gave him back his reason to live. 

* * *

April 12th, 2004

There was nothing for a few days, except that Jim's cold refused to let up and continued to wreck havoc on his senses. That quiet lulled Blair into a false sense of security. Sure, there were three murders and a rape on his desk, but no one was trying to kill Jim, so all was right in Blair's world. 

Until the following Monday, when he ran into himself at the grocery store. "No. No, I cannot keep doing this! Jim's starting to think I'm nuts." 

"We are crazy. Now shut up and listen carefully." His older self grabbed the box Blair had been looking for of the shelf and tossed it into the cart. "It's become rather clear that whoever's trying to kill Jim knows he's a Sentinel. That narrows the list, at least a little. Tomorrow, Jim will go to interview a witness, and he'll never come back. They never found the body, but I felt it when he died. I never stopped looking, but I knew he was gone. You have to go with him, do you understand? You have to protect him." 

There was a huge hint of instance and desperation in those words, and Blair just nodded. "Of course." The other man reached for the next item on Blair's list, and the cuff of his shirt slipped back. There was a pale white scar on his wrist. "Why did you do it? 

"Why the hell do you fucking think?" The man quickly fixed his sleeve. "As bad as it was for the two uses before me, at least they were with him when he died. I wasn't. I was in interview two, talking to a witness. They thought I was having a seizure or something, but when I woke up I... I wasn't right. I'm still not. I ended up institutionalized for awhile. So just remember what's in store for you if you fail, understand?" Then his watch beeped and he was gone. 

Blair closed his eyes and whispered, "I understand." He spent the rest of the day rubbing the skin on his wrists. 

* * *

The next day, he rode with Jim to interview a witness in the middle of nowhere. He rescheduled his own. Nothing happened. Whoever was doing this wasn't out to get him, even seemed to try to be avoiding him. They just wanted to kill Jim. Unfortunately, adding that to the Sentinel thing, it still didn't help narrow the list much. 

On the way back from yet another worthless interview on who'd killed the security guard, Blair dozed and Jim did his best to keep his eyes off the roommate and on the road. His sense of smell was finally starting to come back, and he was being almost overwhelmed by it. By the smell of fear that was always surrounding Blair. He'd been sick for weeks, so he had to wonder when it had started, why it had started. Blair was fucking terrified, all the time, and Jim hadn't had a clue. "Chief, are you awake?" 

There was a murmured, "No." 

"Talk to me, buddy. Tell me what's got you so crazy." 

"Can't." 

"Why are you so afraid?" 

"You." 

And wasn't that a nice, chilling thought to keep him company on the drive home? He'd tried to be subtle, he'd tried not to freak Blair out, he'd tried to pretend it wasn't true, but he'd failed. Big time, if Blair was afraid of him. "I'm sorry." 

* * *

Blair knew this wasn't over. Until he figured out who was after Jim, there would be more attempts. And the cycle would keep repeating, until maybe he didn't live through it either. So, in case the worst came to pass, he came up with a plan b. In his lockbox, nestled next to his will, was a letter to Dave. Dave, who owed him, and would do the back step and save his ass, so he could keep saving Jim's. If he failed, and he wasn't exactly sure he was going to live through this, Dave would help. He had to. 

There are so many people who want to kill Jim. And too many who might have pieced together how he captured them and my press conference. I can't figure out who's trying to do this, and it's driving me crazy. And now, it's as if he can't stand the sight of me. 

I don't know what to do. Ever since we drove out to interview that witness, he's been avoiding me, staying late at the station, or half killing himself in the gym. How can I keep him safe if he keeps pushing me away? 

Blair stared at the computer screen as if it held his answers. Then he saw the reflection in the glass. "Again." 

This time, his other self didn't speak at first, just lay a police file on the desk and stared longingly at the stairs to Jim's bedroom. His voice, when he did speak, sounded raw from disuse. "I miss him so much." 

"I'm doing my best." 

He nodded. "I know. I know you're trying. Mugging this time, okay? Keep him safe." 

"I will." And then he heard that beep again, and when he turned around, he was alone. "Mugging." He opened the police file. The guy had used a stun gun on Jim. Adding that to the stench, and he'd been able to over power Jim. This was their guy. Blair smiled a little. It was finally going to be over! All he had to do was make sure he around to stop this, and everything would be fine. He hoped. 

* * *

Jim stood in front of the Chinese take-out place and considered it a moment. He'd avoided Blair as much as he could, and the kid was starting to get suspicious. The scent of fear was still there, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn't because Blair knew, maybe he'd done something else to freak him out. It was possible. Not likely, but possible. He'd bring home some take-out, as a peace offering, find out what was really bothering his roommate. He walked into the mle that was a Chinese restaurant on a Friday night, and didn't notice Blair coming up the sidewalk. Didn't notice the drunk smoking a cigarette at the top of the alley. 

He walked out twenty minutes later, the smell of Chinese blocking out everything else. He was too preoccupied to notice the drunk until he brushed by and the sharp, sudden sting of a tazer forced Jim to his knees. 

The drunk apparently wasn't a drunk after all. He dragged Jim into the alley. "You're a hard man to kill, Ellison. Your sidekick's saved your ass so far, but he isn't here tonight." 

Jim was just trying to breath. Getting shot hurt less than this. It felt like his entire body was on fire. Finally, he forced out a, "Why?" 

"Why doesn't matter." He jabbed the tazer at Jim again, and shook his head when Jim didn't scream. "I was a soldier once, Ellison. You know you're easier to break if you don't scream." 

"Fuck you." 

"Temper, temper." The man drew a gun from inside his shabby clothes. "I don't have much time, so let's get this over with." 

"Touch him and you die." 

Jim managed to look up and saw the man he'd least expected to see. "Sandburg." 

Blair didn't answer, just leveled his gun at the would be assassin. "Don't think I won't kill you if you hurt him." 

"You're not supposed to be here!" No one had told him that not only did Sandburg have some sort of sixth sense about Ellison, but that he also carried a gun. "Listen, you little hippie. I can kill you both just as easy as one, so why don't you just turn around and walk away?" 

"You just threatened not one, but two police officers, one of whom is holding a gun on you, so you're not really in any position to tell me what to do. Now drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head before I blow your brains out." Blair's voice was very calm, very even, and very serious. 

The man actually was stupid enough to turn his back on Jim, expecting the stuns to keep him down. "You're a cop?" 

"Yeah, I'm a cop." Out of the corner of his eye, Blair watched Jim rise from the ground. 

"You're supposed to be a teacher, not a god damned cop." 

"I'd say your information is about five years out of date, buddy." Jim pressed his gun to the back of the man's head. "You got cuffs, Chief?" 

Blair tossed them to Jim and stared at the man who'd tried to kill his Sentinel. The rage was clearly visible in his eyes. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." 

* * *

He hissed as Blair dabbed at the marks the stun gun had left on his flesh. "You never told me what you were doing at Hei Wan's." 

"I was getting Chinese food to bribe my bitchy roommate with. You know the type?" He taped some gauze over the ugly red sores. "For some reason, he's been avoiding me like the plague." 

"Well, we both know your roommate's a primitive throwback with all sorts of emotional issues." 

"Here." He tossed Jim a clean shirt. "So, Throwback, why have you been avoiding me?" 

"My sense of smell came back." The t-shirt was cotton, well worn and baby soft. It wouldn't bother his skin, even with the sensory spikes Blair couldn't quite manage to stop. "I couldn't stand the smell of fear anymore. I couldn't be around you if you were afraid of me." 

"Afraid of-" And Blair actually started to laugh. "Afraid. Of you. My Blessed Protector, had trouble helping me with my self-defense course, Sentinel? Jim, you probably couldn't hurt me if you tried." 

"That's not..." Jim trailed off. "You told me you were afraid of me." 

"When?" 

"When we were driving back from interviewing that witness." 

"Jim, I was _asleep_." 

"I have conversations with you all the time when you're asleep. You obfuscate less when you're asleep. So," And he looked Blair in the eye. "If you aren't afraid of me, then why do you stink like fear?" 

"I was afraid for you. I saw myself. He told me you were in danger." 

And Jim took that exactly the way Blair knew he would. "You saw your spirit guide. And he told you I was in danger. Probably via cryptic and frightening visions." 

"Your sense of smell was gone almost two months. You would have died if I hadn't seen the brake fluid, if I hadn't been there tonight." 

"Who's the Blessed Protector here?" The smell of fear was fading, and Jim was grateful. He couldn't have taken it much longer. He would have done something... rash. 

"We both are, sometimes." Blair reached out and ran a finger along the edge of the gauze. He felt the lightest shiver. "Jim?" 

"I thought you knew, that that was why you were afraid. I thought you knew. You usually know these things before I do." 

Blair's eyes tracked up until they met Jim's. "You feel it to." It wasn't a question. 

"Is this a near death experience thing, a Sentinel/Guide thing, or is it an us thing?" 

"Probably a mix of all three. Does it matter?" 

"No." He reached for Blair. 

* * *

Jim Ellison opened his eyes at 3 am, half expecting Blair to be gone. Instead, his partner was curled against him, breath hot on Jim's neck. "Hey, Chief?" 

"S'late. You can process and regret this when the sun comes up." 

"I don't want to process and I don't want to regret this. I just..." 

Blair looked at Jim for a moment, then gave him a crooked smile. "What, you want to know if it was good for me?" 

"No. I... This is how it's supposed to be, right?" 

"Yeah, Jim. This is how it's supposed to be." And it had only taken them three tries to get it right. 

* * *

June 6th, 2004 

Six weeks passed without another visit from the future, and Blair was beginning to led himself believe that the assassin really had been the end of it, that whoever had tried so hard to kill Jim had given up. 

He awoke that Sunday morning to Jim tracing patterns down his back. "What are you doing?" 

"Tracing your blood vessels." 

"Oh." He let his eyes close again. "Feels good." He's never had a lover like Jim, someone who knew his body better than he did. Of course, he'd never had a Sentinel in his bed either. The fingers stopped. "Hey." 

"Someone's standing outside our door. I don't recognize him." 

Blair reached for his sweats. "I'll go see who it is. You wanna keep my spot warm?" 

"No. By the time you get back, you'll be too awake for what I had in mind. Go answer the door, and I'll make us some coffee." 

"But..." He was not going to beg. He wasn't. 

"I'll make it up to you later, I promise." 

"If I answer the door?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm going, I'm going. You owe me, Ellison." He trudged down the stairs and opened the door. "Dave?" 

His hand had been raised to knock and he slowly lowered it. "Blair. It's good to see you." 

"We just had lunch last week." 

"No, Blair, we didn't." He handed Blair a folder with police evidence stamped on the cover. "The last time I saw you was almost three years ago, at the funeral. I got your letter, Blair. I did what you told me to." 

"My letter." He accepted the folder and opened it with a grimace. When he saw the photos, he knew if he hadn't spent the past five years as a cop, he probably would have been throwing up last night's dinner. "When?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Thank you, Dave." Blair couldn't stop staring at the pictures of the crime scene. They'd been caught unaware, curled together in Jim's bed. Simon's handwriting sprawled shakily across the investigation notes. He'd overseen the case personally. 

"Stay safe, Blair. Let's not do this again." 

"Yeah." Blair closed the file and when he heard a beep and looked up, Dave was gone. "I can't do this again. I'm going to end up in the nuthouse, and Jim's going to... Hi, Jim!" 

"There's that stink of fear again. I haven't missed it. Haven't missed it at all." Jim glared at the door. "Who was here, Chief?" 

"A friend." 

"A friend who has my Guide terrified out of his mind." 

Blair looked at the folder, then at Jim. "I've already failed three times, Jim. I can't lose you again." 

"Lose me? Blair-" Blair pushed the file into Jim's hands, and he opened it, staring at the photos. "What the-" 

"It's not over. Someone is still trying to kill you." 

"These are fakes, Chief." 

"No, they're real. They're... call them portents, but they're real. Tomorrow night, someone is going to break into the loft and kill us both." 

Jim looked at the case notes. They were in Simon's writing. He could tell, he was a human crime lab after all. The file, (a file from the future?) was real. "Alright. So what do we do about it?" 

* * *

On June 7th, the assassin made what would be their final attempt on Jim's life. They carefully picked the lock and silently crept into the loft. 

A light flashed on, and for a moment, Blair couldn't believe his eyes. Then, it all made perfect sense. The out of date information, the careful attacks on Jim's senses. "I should have known." He pointed his gun at the woman who had come to kill his lover. "Hello again, Alex." 

"I killed you once. Don't think I can't do it again, and finish the job this time." Dark sunglasses covering her eyes despite the late hour, anyone could see Alex Barnes was a mess. "Out of the way, Blair. I have a score to settle." 

"I can't let you do that." Blair turned on another light, and watched Alex wince. "Besides, Jim isn't here. He's downstairs in a van with Simon and a few of our friends. They'll be up in a few seconds, once they get over the shock." 

"He betrayed me. Left me to burn to death in my own mind." 

"You killed his guide. You're lucky he didn't tear you limb from limb." 

Her head cocked towards the doorway. Footsteps. So, he was telling the truth. Well, she still had one more surprise in store for Jim. "Do you know how I woke up? My doctor saw you on the news, made the connection. He bought a black market copy of your dissertation. It took him a long time, but he woke me up. I killed him afterwards, but he woke me up. I'm awake thanks to you, Blair, and he's dead thanks to you." 

He'd been through so much these past few months, dreamed each of those deaths that had never happened, that if his friends hadn't burst in that moment, he probably would have killed her. 

"Alex Barnes." If Rafe had never heard that name again, it would have been too soon. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." He reached for his handcuffs. 

Alex wasn't listening. She was just staring at Jim. "Is he really worth this? Worth more than me?" 

"And so much more." 

She moved so quickly, Rafe couldn't stop her. She darted forward, and with a small knife no one had noticed, slashed at Jim's chest. 

Simon restrained her himself after that. With only a slight amount of excessive force, he pinned her to the ground. "You have the right to an attorney." 

Jim stared at the blood welling up from the small cut, then turned to Blair. "You were right." 

"See you in hell, Jim." Alex spat on the floor as they dragged her out. 

"That seemed sort of... anti-climactic." Blair wanted to laugh. It was over, it was finally over. "Hey, Big Guy, what do you say-" 

Jim was staring at the blood on his fingers. He'd zoned. 

"Jim. Jim, can you hear me?" 

Jim's eyes rolled back and he tipped over, falling to the floor. 

"No!" Blair knelt beside his partner, but he already knew what he would find. 

Outside, being loaded into a patrol car, Alex Barnes just smiled. 

* * *

It didn't rain the day they buried Jim, which Blair was grateful for. If he'd had to do this wet, he never could have gotten through it. As it was, his eulogy was a shaky mess, and his hands trembled when he took his place to carry the casket. They buried Jim with full honors, and Blair sat in the front row, wishing he could wake up from this nightmare. 

They hadn't had enough time. Six weeks wasn't nearly enough time. Simply knowing what was coming hadn't been enough this time around. He had to think, had to think of a way to save Jim. He wasn't spending the rest of his life without half a soul. 

* * *

After the wake, and all the quiet condolences that hinted at what had been the truth in this timeline, they finally left him alone. Lying in a bed that was already starting to seem too big, he opened the letter he'd found with Jim's personal things. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. It was new, recent. 

Dear Blair,  
We wasted so much time, but we finally got it right. As I write this, you're dead asleep, drooling on my pillow, and it's almost an imperative that I get back into bed with you. If you're reading this, then I'm dead. I always knew I'd probably die before you, because I'm a fool, and a risk-taking fool at that. I want you to know that I'd give anything to still be there with you, no matter how many years has passed since I've written this. 

At that, Blair felt something inside him tear. Years? They hadn't had years. They hadn't even had _months_. Just six weeks. 

If it were me, right now I'd be looking at my gun, wondering how it would taste. But you're a braver man than I am. Don't do anything stupid. I mean it. Don't make me come back and haunt you. Take care of yourself, Blair. Remember I love you. 

Jim 

"Don't do anything stupid." He wouldn't. He'd made his decision. He knew how to save Jim. 

* * *

February 24th, 2007 

Blair turned the gun over a few times in his hand. The salesman was all smiles. "She's a beautiful weapon, Detective. Brand new, they just started making her last year. Perfect for this year's Cop of the Year." 

"She'll do just fine." Let the man think he was treating himself because of the award. All that mattered was that his past self wouldn't get the blame for this. The gun he held in his hands had still been on the drawing board in 2004. 

* * *

He watched Dave calibrate the equipment. "Why are you letting me do this? It violates every bit of ethics you have." 

"I have to know if it's even possible to change time. And I figure saving Jim is a harmless enough way to test it. He'll never have children, so it's not like he's going to contaminate the gene pool, and it's unlikely he'll become a serial killer later in life, so I decided just this once, just to see, that it would be okay." 

"Thank you, Dave." 

"No problem. Good luck, Blair. I hope to hell this works." 

"Me too." Then he punched in a date and was gone. 

* * *

March 29th, 2004, Take Two 

In a clean, well kept mental hospital, one woman was disposing of the pills she was supposed to take. She heard the door open, and then, shocked, recognized the scent. "What are _you_ doing here?" 

"Taking care of a problem." Blair stood before a Sentinel, wearing a purloined lab coat for the second and last time. But this time, his mission was a little different. 

"You think you can stop me, Teach? You're a professor, not a cop." 

"Actually, I am a cop. But I'm also a Guide. Jim's Guide. And I can't let you hurt him." 

"What are you going to do? Shoot me?" 

"Yes." She died with an expression of pure shock on her face. 

* * *

"Jim, did you buy groceries this week?" Blair stared into a rather empty fridge. 

"I thought it was your turn." 

"No, we switched, because of the double shifts last week, remember? It was definitely your turn, but I'll treat you to dinner if you can tell me what this blue stuff is." 

Jim peered into the fridge. "I think it used to be bread. Chinese?" 

"Chinese. Let me get a coat." 

The phone ran, and Jim grabbed for it. "Hello? Yeah, Simon, he's right here. No, we haven't made any unexpected trips to New York. We've been watching some Sci-Fi show all day. What? Yes, yes, I head you. I'll tell him. Thanks for calling." 

He took one look at Jim and immediately assumed the worst. "Who died?" 

"Alex Barnes. Someone shot her." 

"How does someone in a coma get shot?" He should feel something, shouldn't he? Something other than relief? 

"Apparently, she woke up last week, and no one told us. They found plans in her room. She'd hired an assassin. She was going to try and kill us." Jim stared at the phone. "Christ. She was going to try and kill you again." 

"Jim..." 

"And that's not the worst of it, Chief. The man who killed her looked like you. Exactly like you. Showed _your_ ID to get into the hospital." 

"I think I'd know if I'd killed a Sentinel today." 

"See, that's the thing. Even if it was you, which it obviously was it, the gun this guy used isn't even off the production line yet. The authorities called the manufacturer. It's due to hit the factories next year. This doesn't make any sense." 

"Can we go to dinner now? Before my doppelganger shows up? I don't want to have to buy him dinner too, no matter how big a favor she did us." 

"You don't want to analyze this for hours?" 

"The woman drowned me, Jim. Do you want me to pretend I'm sad she's dead? I suppose I can manage it, but it just seems like a lot of effort, considering she was on her way to murder us." 

"No, no I don't want you to pretend." He suddenly felt very safe, knowing she was gone for good. 

* * *

The fortune cookies hadn't made much sense tonight, and the letter taped to their door didn't seem like it was going to make the evening any clearer. Beer in hand, Blair dropped beside Jim on the couch and opened the letter. 

> __
> 
> I, or rather, we killed Alex today. If we'd let her live, she would have murdered Jim, and destroyed us. This was Dave's gift to us. He let us change time, despite everything he believed in, because he knew how much this meant to us. He let us change time, and Jim will live, but my timeline and everything I've done has ended. 
> 
> __
> 
> Know him as I have, Blair. Or you'll regret it for the rest of your life. 
> 
> __

"It's your handwriting." Jim leaned over his shoulder and read the note. "Who's Dave?" 

"Dave's a friend of mine. He has a doctorate in Quantum Physics. I met him, god, almost twenty years ago. He's been working on... time travel." 

"You're saying that you, a future you, traveled back in time to stop Alex from murdering me." 

"Don't sound so incredulous, man. You know I'd do anything for you." 

"Alright, assume I believe you defied time and space to save my life. I've done the same for you. Assume I believe a future you killed Alex, and wrote you this letter. Assume all that, and then tell me what, 'Know him as I have' means." 

Blair stared at those five words, an obscure reference to a story he'd read a long time ago. Terrie Drummonds' Converse Symmetry. Know him as I have were instructions to Julian Bashir, a warning from an alternate universe counterpart not to waste his chance with Garak. He also remembered how that story ended. Painfully. "Nothing. It means nothing." He let the letter fall onto the coffee table. "I'm going to bed. We can discuss it more in the morning, if you want." 

Jim watched Blair slowly walk to his room, and he could tell that Blair thought he would let this go, but he wasn't going to. Because below Blair's handwritten note was one from a computer printer, one in ink so light only a Sentinel could see it. 

> __
> 
> I couldn't live without you. I changed time to be with you again, but I had to give up my timeline and everything we had accomplished. I had to give you up to get you back. 
> 
> __
> 
> Love him like my Jim loved me. Don't make the same mistakes we did. Don't wait until it's too late. You left me a letter, Jim. You told me you loved me that you would give anything to be with me again. I did give anything, I gave everything. Please don't let me regret that. 
> 
> __
> 
> He's afraid. You'll have to make the first move. 
> 
> __
> 
> Go to him. 
> 
> __

Jim stared at the letter, then at Blair's closed doors. Go to him. It was an order from his Guide, and Jim did as he was told. He rose from the couch, and went to Blair. 

* * *

End Tempus Des Mors by Nemesis: nemesis_07@juno.com

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